


Blake Bakery & Cafe

by ajeepandleather



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Artist Clarke, Banter, Barista Bellamy, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 01:01:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13776357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajeepandleather/pseuds/ajeepandleather
Summary: When Clarke starts coming to Bellamy's coffee shop, he finds he likes coming in to work more and more.





	Blake Bakery & Cafe

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Bellarke fanfic noob here.   
> I really hope you guys like this self indulgent fic to expel my pent up energy waiting for season 5!

“Bell, I need to head out,” Octavia doesn’t even wait for his approval as she’s already pulling her apron over her head and hanging it up on the rack. 

 

“I needed you to close tonight,” he says, stepping in front of the door that leads out into the cafe to stop her from leaving. 

 

“Well, I have practice and coach says he’ll replace me for the game if I don’t come.” Bellamy knows he’s screwed the moment the little wrinkle between her eyebrows smooths out and her eyes get wide. “I need to keep up my stats for college, Bell.” 

 

He sighs, closing his eyes and letting his crossed arms drop. She was playing hard ball and they both knew it. Bellamy was bound and determined to get his little sister into college, to get out of this town even if it meant leaving him and the old coffee shop behind. 

 

“Fine, go-” She’s already on the move, pulling on her jacket and grabbing her backpack as she goes, “Be home for dinner!” He calls after her, watching her jog out the doors. He takes a deep breath and reminds himself of how his mother would smile when he bent to Octavia’s will. He’s been wrapped around her finger since birth. 

 

It hadn’t been easy since their mother passed, taking up ownership of the shop, becoming O’s legal guardian and putting his own degree on pause. Recently he debated just taking the Associate’s Degree he had been offered with his two years at the local community college and call it done. He just wanted to run his business and support his sister, those were his only goals and he was content with that. 

 

He walks out to get behind the counter again, restocking and preparing for the lunch hour rush as people try to get their caffeine fix before heading back to work. He’s lining up a row of muffins in the glass case when he spots someone he doesn’t recognize as one of his regulars. Even the not-so-regular people he tends to take note of, the town isn’t very big with only about seven hundred people milling about their lives.

 

He watches as discreetly as he can as the new girl surveys the shop, presumably for a place to sit. She has a worn, leather satchel that she has slung over the opposite shoulder of the hip it rests on. Her hair falls in messy waves from a bun on her head that looks like it was thrown up into a hair tie with minimal care. And the eyes, they’re almost offensively blue and rimmed with dark liner. She must deem a spot acceptable because he makes her way across the door to sit down in the sunniest seat available, by the big side window that faces the east. 

 

He continues his arranging of pastries while she sets up what looks to be a sketchbook and a tablet, laying out various pens and a stylus tucked behind her ear. She seems to drop into her work, like the effort of putting the pens to paper and getting the lines just right consume her. It’s fascinating and Bellamy has to shake his head to snap out of the trance. The sunlight is washing through her hair, illuminating it that it looks like a source of light itself. 

 

Bellamy nearly jumps out of skin when she moves from her spot with what looks like a sigh and makes her way to the counter. Her lips are set in a firm line and he’s just now noticing a smudge of what looks like pencil lead over her right eyebrow. He does his best to blank his face as she steps up to his counter. 

 

“I figured you might stop aggressively staring at me if I actually ordered something.” Her voice is oldly rough for a woman but it still flows easily. Bellamy doesn’t let the interest show on his face. 

 

“Would be nice if I didn’t have to kick you out for loitering.” Bellamy lifts his eyebrows at her, not one to be easily cowed. She’d have to try a lot harder than that if she thinks she can best him. 

 

“Is this how you treat all your customers?” She sighs, leaning one hand on the counter in between them. He looks down, eyes caught by the movement and sees smudges of paint and marker over the skin around her fingers, blues and greens and brown like the earth. 

 

“Not the paying ones,” He snipes, hands poised over the cash register pointedly. She stares at him for a long moment, flicking her gaze over his face before seeming to come to a decision. 

 

“Hazelnut latte with an extra shot and no whipped cream.” He nods and accepts the card she hands him. He rings her up quietly and doesn’t say his customary “have a nice day” as he hands over the receipt. He can practically feel te smack to the side of the head his mother would give him for lack of manners but there’s something about this girl that sets him on edge. 

 

He takes his time with the latte, puts a little more care into how he mixes the espresso and milk, careful in the delicate leaf he draws in the foam. It’s probably the most effort he’s put into a drink in a while and he ignores the niggling voice in the back of his mind asking why. 

 

“Hazelnut latte for the princess,” he announces to the nearly empty shop. He can practically feel the eyeroll that washes off of the girl in waves. She gets up and snatches the cup with a glare and -

 

“It’s Clarke.”

 

“Bellamy.”

 

“I saw the name tag.” Bellamy’s hands clench, resisting the smack he wants to plant on his forehead. She walks away before he has the chance to gather his brain back for a snappy reply. He resigns himself to a lost cause and goes back to work cleaning. It’s another twenty or so minutes before the shop is stormed by the rush of people in business attire. 

 

When the last of the executive assistants clear out with their trays of coffee, Bellamy tries to spot Clarke but she’s already gone. 

 

***

 

A whole week goes by before Clarke shows up again, not like Bellamy was waiting or anything. She walks in, and doesn’t look up from setting out her drawing supplies until she’s standing up and approaching the counter. 

 

“Bell, people think it’s scary when you stare,” Octavia bumps her shoulder into his as she passes with a cup to be filled with a latte. “You always tend to look mildly murderous.” Bellamy shakes himself out of it just as Clarke makes it to the register and he studiously ignores the snort of laughter from his little sister. 

 

“What will it be today, princess?” Bellamy does his best to be casual as he leans a hip against his side of the counter. She levels him with an unimpressed look before glancing back up at the menu. 

 

“Hazelnut latte with an extra shot,” she says as she pulls out her card. 

 

“Same as last time, got it.”

 

“May wanna tone down on the creeper tendencies,” She lifts an eyebrow as she hands over the card for him to swipe. He doesn’t blush, but it’s a near thing and he doesn’t look her in the eye, solely focused on ringing her up. 

 

“Do you want a punch card?” He asks, voice just a smidge rougher than before. 

 

“Sure, I think I like it here.” She smiles slyly as she takes the punch card and walks away. 

 

“Smooth, Bell, smooth.” Octavia is laughing as she swipes the cup he had been writing Clarke’s order on from his hands. 

 

“Shut up, O.” 

 

***

 

Clarke slowly becomes a regular, almost a part of the scenery that comes with Blake Bakery & Cafe. Just a paint and graphite smudged artist in the sunniest corner, sketching and erasing, sketching and erasing and making Bellamy’s life that much harder. 

 

“You’ve been staring again. Ever wonder if that’s why people leave in such a hurry?” Clarke is leaning against the pick-up counter, not immediately leaving for her table like usual. 

 

“It could be that people have lives to get to.” Bellamy is wiping down the counters but Octavia isn’t here to notice how slow he’s going compared to usual. 

 

“Hm, solid theory.” Clarke hums as she sips her latte. There’s a streak of blue gluing some strands of her hair together near the front and a mark of pastel green over her cheekbone. She’s wearing a tattered jean jacket and combat boots. On anyone else the patches would look pretentious, the vintage band-tee like they were trying too hard. But Clarke pulls it all together with a rugged demeanor and sharp gaze. 

 

“Are you going to school for art?” Bellamy almost stumbles over the words but he can’t help the worry that seeps in his veins when he senses a lapse in the conversation. He doesn’t want her to leave quite yet. It’s the first time in the month of back and forth at the register that either of them have said someone has said something with the usual snark. 

 

“What? Oh, no. I’m self taught.” She fumbles a bit, rolling her cup between her hands and Bellamy is caught by the movement of her fingers. “I’m going to school for political science.” At least Bellamy isn’t the only one thrown off by the new dynamic.

 

“What do you want to do with that?” He realizes just a second too late how harsh and demeaning that could sound and looks up almost nervously at Clarke. Her eyes are narrowed and for a moment they sit in silence while her gaze flits over his face. She must see something like sincerity there because she answers without venom. 

 

“I want to be an advocate, someone who works for non-profits and charities to get them more support.”

 

“That’s great,” Bellamy pushes his pride aside to smile at her. 

 

“What about you? Are you in school?” She asks it kindly enough but it still hits him in the chest where the topic is still sore. 

 

“Nah, wasn’t for me. I took over the shop when my mom passed.” Clarke looks apologetic when he braves looking her in the eye again. “It isn’t the worst thing to happen, I like it here. My own place, and a way to support Octavia while she does the college track.” He shrugs and moves from his perfectly clean counter to the espresso machine and starts to wipe that down. 

 

“You must love her a lot, Octavia.” Clarke’s voice is softer than he’s ever heard it and he smiles at her just as soft and nods. 

 

“She’s lucky to have you.” 

 

***

 

“Bell, you forgot the whipped cream,” Octavia snatches Clarke’s usual latte from where he was about to grab the drink off the counter. 

 

There’s something wrong with that in the back of his mind but he’s too busy being swamped by a soccer mom’s steamer and an order of four macchiatos to take the time to figure out what. 

 

***

 

_ Hey, it’s Clarke _

 

The text is something he doesn’t notice until the end of his day when he’s climbing out of the shower after a long shift at the shop. He stops in the middle of his apartment bedroom in just a towel, one hand pausing mid-shake of his wet hair when he reads the name. 

 

He’s staring at his phone wondering how he’s gotten to this point and coming up blank. 

 

_ hey, whats up _

 

He hits send before he can overthink it but regrets it because, gods, that was lame as hell. He flops back onto his bed and tries to distract himself by pulling on the pajamas he had laid out on the bed before his shower. He’s shimmying into his plaid pants when his phone goes off. 

 

_ I don’t really know, I thought you might have something in mind _

 

Bellamy stares at that one for a moment, the confusion pushing the anxiety of the last text out of his mind. 

 

_ why would you think that _

 

_ You gave me your number, I thought that made you point in this convo _

 

Now that is  _ really _ confusing. He thinks back over the last few days and unless he blocked the memory from ever being found again out of sheer anxiety, he has no idea when he would have given Clarke his number. Sure, he had been contemplating it for a while but he had, uh, yet to find the right moment. 

 

He thinks over the last few days, racking his brain for anyway he might have done this even on  _ accident  _ because he just can’t -

 

“Octavia, you little shit,” He growls. 

 

_ Im sorry, my sister was meddling in something that isn’t her business shes just being an ass _

 

It was this morning, when Octavia had taken the cup to whipped cream on Clarke’s latte. Bellamy  _ knew _ there was something wrong with that because Clarke never asked for whipped cream, didn’t like things overly sweet. 

 

_ Okay _

 

Bellamy looks down at the response and cringes. Gods, this is the worst. This wasn’t how he wanted to do this, and they had been doing so well with being friendly. The snark was softer, more like banter and Clarke no longer glared when he called her “princess”. 

 

_ see you at the shop tomorrow? Ill have your usual ready _

 

_ Sure _

 

He wanted to punch himself but settled with groaning into his pillow and hoping he might eventually suffocate. 

 

***

 

The next day is horrible. 

 

Clarke looks guarded as she enters the shop, shoulders up and tense like she’s preparing for an attack. Her eyes don’t have that familiar shine, and that’s only seen the one or two times she actually makes eye contact as Bellamy rings her up. Their conversation (if you could call it that) was short, no nonsense and left him aching. He watches her discreetly as he makes the drink, trying to figure out what the matter is. 

 

“What? Did you kiss her into depression? Goddamn, Bell.” Octavia hip checks him as she settles in next to him to make another customer’s order. 

 

“What? No, I’m doing damage control.” 

 

“Did you offend her?” Octavia looks at him sharply, obviously not getting the memo that she, by family default, has to be on his side for these things but that’s not the point. 

 

“No, I have to make up for you making it awkward between us,” he hisses, trying to signal with his own voice that she should lower hers. Not that is looks like Clarke is listening, she’s staring out the window where she usually sits. And that’s when he notices she doesn’t have her bag with her. No art supplies or sketchpad to be seen.

 

“What, you were supposed to ask her out!” Octavia whispers back, smacking the strainer back into the espresso machine with too much force. 

 

“Ask her out? O -”

 

“Yes, you idiot! You guys have been flirting non-stop for weeks, I just gave you the shove you needed to actually  _ do _ something about it.” 

 

“She doesn’t- I don’t- We don’t flirt, O! She doesn’t like me like that!” He focuses on the leaf he’s drawing in the foam of Clarke’s latte instead of looking at Octavia who is clenching her fists like every time she gets indignant. 

 

“You’re an absolute dumbass, Bell. If you don’t see it, then I don’t think anything short of a miracle would prove it.” She huffs and stomps away to the back room, mutter about dumb boys and needing more coffee grounds. 

 

Bellamy takes a deep breath and slips a lid over the latte before going to the pick-up counter. 

 

“For the princess,” he smiles, one side of his mouth quirked because he’s too nervous to really smile. 

 

“Thanks,” Clarke nods and is gone before he try to say a word more. He feels something in his chest, heavy and anxious and the feeling doesn’t leave. 

 

***

 

The next three weeks pass in a haze of going through a checklist of life. Wake up, eat, go to work, come home, eat, go to bed, rinse and repeat. 

 

There’s a fog around his mind and no matter what he does he can’t shake it. Octavia is obviously upset with him and he’s slower in filling orders and the days just  _ drag on and on. _ It’s like the life has been sucked out of Life and he doesn’t know how to restore it. 

 

Well, that’s a lie. He knows exactly why he’s like this. Knows his days are missing the excitement that comes with witty banter and sharp eyes. The hours slump past when he does have hair streaked with paint to look forward to and his hand itches to write “Princess” across the side of a cup, complete with a crown that he always takes time to draw. 

 

He lays in bed and stares at the not-conversation text thread, replays all the time he’s spent with Clarke and tries not to scream. Octavia was right, she was right and he is a dumbass and here he is withering away because if fucked up so royally. It’s times like these that he misses his mom the most. He had spent so much of his childhood trying to fill an absent father’s shoes that he never really got to be a kid. He never told his mom about his crushes or asked for advice, never thought it was important enough. 

 

Now he wishes he could ask her what to do, how to fix this mess. 

 

_ come to the shop tomorrow _

 

He hits send on accident, his thumb twitching and he’s partially grateful because he probably would have over thought it anyway. He looks it over, notes the weeks and weeks of difference between that text and the text above it. 

 

_ please  _

 

He’s asleep, restless and tossing around in bed when the phone on his nightstand vibrates. 

 

_ Okay _ .

 

***

 

The next day he’s a mess. He snaps at two customers, spills three in-progress drinks and would go home early for the first time since his mother died if it weren’t that he was still waiting. He felt like his very bones were shaking anxiously and more than once Octavia has pulled him away from the register to go take a breather. He was stressed as all hell but he needed to be here. 

 

It’s after the lunch rush that the bell over the door chimes and his eyes snap up to see her. His heart pounds and for the first time he realizes it isn’t the anticipation of a verbal fight but like his heart knows what it wants. It’s cheesy and lame and ridiculous but there’s no better way to say it. 

 

“Hi,” She doesn’t smile, looking wary. Hair pulled halfway up but stands still falling loose. She’s wearing a nice pair of jeans and a cropped leather jacket, she looks amazing. 

 

“Hey, princess.” He knows he’s smiling dopely and that it may be weirding her out but he can’t help it. If Octavia is right all of the nerves will be worth it. “The usual?” He brings his hands up and over the register and tries to communicate with his eyes to just go with it.

 

“Yeah.” She nods, eyes questioning and guarded like that day three weeks ago. She starts to pull out her card but he stops her. 

 

“It’s on the house, a special occasion.” She cocks her eyebrow and it reminds him of those first few encounters and gods, he was falling for her even then. 

 

“Okay.” The word is clipped and her eyes still project suspicion but he just smiles and wills his heart rate to come down. His hands are shaking as he makes the drink but he doesn’t let it slow him down, knows that he’s so close he just has to push through these last few steps. 

 

“Hazelnut latte for the princess,” he calls into the shop, bringing Clarke from where she had been standing back from the counter. He looks her in the eye as he pointedly turns the cup so his messy scrawl is facing her. 

 

He waits with bated breath as she grabs the cup and reads. He doesn’t take his eyes off her and he vaults over the counter and waits some more. He watches her eyes go wide as she reads -

 

_ Turn this idiot frog into a prince?  _

 

He sees her swallow thickly, taking a deep breath as she careful puts the cup back on the counter. When she looks up at him, finally, his heart sinks with her narrow eyed gaze. 

 

“You’re an absolute asshole.”

 

“So I’ve been to-” He’s cut off with hands on his shoulders yanking him down into probably the best kiss of his life. It’s just firm pressure of mouths at first before he can’t handle it and he wraps arms around her waist, flicking his tongue against the seam of his lips. She opens up willingly enough but he’s caught off guard by confident swipes of tongue and nips of teeth at his lips. 

 

“Go on a date with me.” He breathes into the few scant inches between them, unwilling to pull back any farther. 

 

“Pick me up at six.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're a Sterek fan, check out my [other works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ajeepandleather/works) and my [tumblr](https://ajeepandleather.tumblr.com/) :)


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